Dear World

Please Kill Me,

Endurance: (noun) capacity of something to last or to withstand wear and tear. (latin- fucked).

So it’s been a shaky few days for this particular writer. I tend to oversimplify a bit when it comes to certain situations (the profanity makes it all to easy), however I realize that sometimes a more delicate touch is required, ergo I’ll try to abstain (though not that hard), so the message isn’t effed in the A. (Okay screw it that was lame).

To create is to endure. Many of you may have realized that fact already, but for every 1 of you who know it; 2 have been devoid of how it truly feels. The experience is in ways comparable to life. We begin sentience as a deluded child, masters of our domain; never truly understanding that the very power we yield, is the exact power that we don’t possess.

This in turn leads to the (less powerless) budding adult -who’s tea bagged by the rungs of life’s proverbial sack. Of course this concludes with the adult. Who though war torn, must find a way to embrace that initial deluded child’s spirit, in the hopes of finding the drive (and aforementioned delusion) to endure the inevitable fuckery of life.

*Sidenote – (For my non-American friends {Fuckery : an amalgamation of the English words “Fuck” and “Bakery”- in other words a hypothetical and prolific factory, from which “Fucks” are consistently (and often predictably) baked.} As you can tell, the dictionary thing is funny to me today).

Continuing forward. It is that very moment that we embrace the delusion of the inner child and discover our ambition (interchangeable with drive) that the task of getting it done begins to feel weighty and real upon our shoulders.

Now this isn’t about the process. (I already have, and certainly will again, discuss that in detail). This is about (for the sake of illustrative purposes) the pterodactyl, that takes a little chunk out of you with every day against the heat of the grain and beat of the sun.

A lot of people misunderstand the pressures of mental weariness. Just like the physical deterioration an athlete experiences, the mental is similarly shit-stormed -despite it’s strength (for you ego-maniacs), if it is constantly forced to go. For the 3 of you who’ve been keeping up, refer to my “crash.”

So to endure, the stories, the writing, the editing, the reading, the criticism, the exposure, the openness, the vulnerability; becomes the demon that creatives must slay with malice. In a perfect world, it would solely be us and what we’ve created. However, in a perfect world, there would be nothing to create. There would be no need for mediums/interpreters -and make no mistake that is exactly what we are.

We may not be able to control the exhaustion. Hell for all we know, it may be predetermined. With that I suppose the only true test of endurance, is when we’ve decided that enough is enough. I can’t make that choice. I don’t think I have one. I would gladly accept an eternity worn, than even one day without my craft.

If I have accomplished anything with this post, it’s just to do what I’ve promised from day one. Show you my journey, and hopefully inform and entertain you for yours.

On the cold side of the pillow,

-Antwan Crump.